Get all 3 Shamalamamonkey releases available on Bandcamp and save 10%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Schizophonic Symphony: Anti-scores For the Films of Reggie Gussle, Sexy Saudi, and Schizophonic Symphony [preview].
1. |
Gussle's Backward Way
11:12
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Come on in. Time to begin...
Memorized greeting. Rehearsed response. Contort the face into a smile. Vacant eyes all the while. Dance the dance of the machine. The illusion of life made of Plasticine. Glue the eyes on, looks so real, but paint the eyelids crystal clear. Eyes closed, wide open.
Come on in to have revenge. Come on in. It's time to end this game that we call life. We cannot win. Come on and dance the dance of the machine. Spin and tighten up the lyre strings. But all the evils of the gods are locked inside your tiny golden box. The gods have promised all the eyes can see. Your mind, it burns with curiosity. Your hands are bloodied, and your face is guarded. Buried your secret out in the backyard.
The moonlight's so inviting, inviting you insane. Coaxing you to shadows, the shadows of your brain. Your curiosity is piqued. I'm afraid tonight they'll be no sleep. The moonlight paints your eyelids clear.
Come on and dance the dance of the machine. It's time for you to end this sad routine. The rock removed, the battle waged and lost. You open up the box.
Just a quick twist of the golden key opens the lid and sets them free. Slithering serpents on the wing. Hark! the putrid creatures sing. Death, disease, insanity. Open the lid and set them free.
How can we close the lid unscathed with all the horrors left uncaged? Pretend it's just a fairy tale. Recite the words, our daily jail. When foreboding rears its ugly head, we'll know precisely when we're dead. Man can live on hope alone. Close the lid to atone. We'll reap the seeds that we have sown.
©2018 Shamalamamusic
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2. |
Gussle Tied to Trouble
11:16
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How can we come back from this unscathed? Battered and broken, our bodies bathed in regret. Can't reset. The clock keeps ticking on and on after we're gone. Your body's floating out to sea, but it's me who's drowning.
As you walked through the sea of snakes, like a fool I thought I'd keep you safe. The stakes were high, and I know we all must die. Mistakes were mine. I cannot cut the ties.
For a year and a day, seasons change, you decay. Jackals come, jackals go, leave with your soul. Neither cry, nor sing. Broken fingers stroke the strings. Cannot sing, cannot cry as your body lies.
Shuffling off to Hell, I've come undone, but I have no penny underneath my tongue. You are just a shade, and the debt must be paid, but obsession drives my song to be sung. How can I go back when all I've loved has turned to black?
Playing for the devil takes its toll, and all I've got to lose is your soul. Mercy, like a flash, lights up the sky which only illuminates the swarm of lies.
How can I come back with you on faith? Shake the devil's hand and the past erased.
Eyes closed, wide open.
©2018 Shamalamamusic
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3. |
Gussle the Golfer
11:41
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Spinning faster, we see through glass darkly. Wind in hair and butterflies. Merry goes 'round and lava surrounds. We close our eyes, hold on tight. My hands, they look so strong, but I could not hold on. The Nothing has come.
Reaching higher, we do conspire to kick a hole through the sky. Released the chains that enslave our brains, so it's high time that we all fly. My shadow looks so tall as I brace for the fall. The Nothing is all.
Fake it 'till you break it. Alive to survive. Unleash the clown inside. I painted that smile upon myself. Oh, the little lies we tell ourselves. Don the mask and join the masses. Wake up in the morning with another piece of soul missing. Repeat to yourself, "This is only a test." Oh, the little lies we tell ourselves.
There's a rumor going 'round in this one-horse town. We stole a glimpse right through the facade. Tie a cloth across your eyes, an impenetrable disguise. Fall on your knees for an invisible god. Now the lure of true love's kiss becomes a slit across your wrist, and your eyes are no longer deaf. An awakening in the brain sets you apart from the sane. You've got to laugh when it's all you've got left.
We clawed our way out of the shell. Oh, the little lies that we tell ourselves. Deliver us unto this hell. Oh, the little lies that I tell myself.
And what did you expect to find down the rabbit hole, inside the wardrobe, at the end of the rainbow? There's nothing in the looking glass but you. Only you.
©2018 Shamalamamusic
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4. |
Gussle's Day of Rest
20:25
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Where's the sun on these cold, cold days? Where is home when you steal away? Nothing is sweet. Starving to eat. I've been down this rabbit hole for far too long.
Don't hold your breath while I suffocate. A pound note short and 20 years too late. Rising to shrink. Poison to drink. Forgetting to think. Climbing to sink.
Pitch black, back on the river. Drowning, soul left to wither. Who are these beasts who live here? Floating along to who knows where.
For the money and for the show, we dance in circles for the devil that we know. We wave our flags, root for our team. An exercise in futility. A buffoon platoon trained to blow the trumpets. Patriotic or idiotic, we fantasize to win the prize and close our eyes until we do.
Just black or white, no gray here. Conform or just disappear. Dance 'til we're tangled in our strings.
The more you hear, the less you know. Alternative facts now run the show. We'll feed the hate to make us great.
Opened up like a telescope, 12 feet tall. Knees to my chest and back to the wall. I've grown too large for my own little bed. I'll be sleeping in my grave until the day I'm dead. When did the monkeys start running the zoo? And when did I start running, too? Carry my cage wherever I go, peering through the bars at everyone I know.
Who am I when I'm not me? Fill me with electricity. I sniff the salt of awakening. But how can I sleep when my life's incomplete?
I won't be your pawn anymore. Come for the lies, but stay for goodbyes. It's time to fly.
We're all mad, so whichever way that you go, you'll sing me a song that rights all my wrongs. It won't last too long.
I'm accused of killing time, singing songs that never rhyme. Beats to which no one dances, riddles that have no answers. I'm the death of the party, making noise in my own key. No one takes my picture, requests my time signature. A schizophonic symphony.
But aren't we still trying to find our way home like in the stories we were fed as kids? Follow the rules and you get to go to heaven whatever the hell that is. In the garden of fools, there's no room for me or you.
At least mouth the words or you're mad as a hatter. Fill the plate to make the fat cats fatter.
You wear the invisible crown until life beats you down. And the moral is they can't topple you if you're already on the ground. I'm the mock turtle in primordial soup, an endless feedback loop. And the moral is never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others you were otherwise.
Will you, won't you, will you join in the dance?
Thievery isn't a crime as long as it's only our minds. And the moral is the more there is of yours, the less there is of mine.
We had reeling and writhing in turn. Uglification is all I learned. And we had ambition, distraction, derision, drawling, stretching, fainting, laughing, and grief.
We have a treat for you all. The cast of characters return for curtain call. The liars, the cheaters, the drunken wife beaters, the lazies, the crazies, the lowlife bottom feeders, the greedy, the seedy, the junkie gang leaders, the dregs of society, and me.
This is the part where I awaken and wipe these nightmares from my eyes. If only this was just a story, I could close the book.
Come on in. It's time to end this game that we call life. We cannot win.
©2022 Shamalamamusic
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Shamalamamonkey Indiana
Very little is known about the band at this time. Witness accounts say the band includes between 1 and 13 people. Their impromptu performances range from 30 seconds to 13 hours and are performed with various disguises and under alternate band names. These shows are rarely announced, often in remote areas, and occasionally even without an audience. No one knows why. ... more
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